Beautiful World
by Batdz Angel
Summary: With all it's shame, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.


**Title: **Beautiful World**  
Author:** Batdz Angel**  
Disclaimer:** I don't own this fabulous, wonderful show cause if I did, we'd be pretty much watching lots Weevil and Veronica smut. Yep. And I don't own Desiderata. It's a poem by the very talented Max Ehrmann.  
**Pairing/Character:** Weevil, mentions of Weevil and Lilly, WeeVer.  
**Rating:** R 'cause of adult material such as homophobia and underage sex, plus there's adult language.  
**Summary: **_With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.**  
**_**Spoilers:** Anything goes.  
**Author's Note:** So, thanks to PMD for beta-ing this for me, love our chats babe, all the little ideas you give my muse! And also to the writer of this poem, thank you for summing up life in one poem. Also, there is Spanish in here for those of you who don't speak it, I'm sorry but it's a Weevil centric piece, really so the Spanish? Kinda unavoidable.

--

_Go placidly amid the noise and haste,  
and remember what peace there may be in silence.  
As far as possible without surrender  
be on good terms with all persons.  
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;  
and listen to others,  
even the dull and the ignorant;  
they too have their story. _

He first learned what pain tasted like when his cousin Jose punched him in the jaw for talking back at him. He was four years old and didn't know that men weren't supposed to cry so he began to sob in big, gaping gasps that had his grandmother rushing outside to see what was wrong.

"Stupid little _pendejo_," Jose had jeered. "Crying like a little bitch!"

His grandmother had reprimanded his cousin immediately for swearing, hitting him across the cheek hard enough to leave a mark. Jose had run away a few weeks later; he was only thirteen and Weevil didn't understand why he was always so angry. Grandma said that it was because Jose hadn't been hugged enough as a child and he wondered why his mama and papa didn't ever hug him; was there something wrong with him?

He was seven years old when his grandmother first punished him; he'd stolen a dollar in quarters from her purse on a dare from Chardo and he'd been punished by having his television privileges taken away. He'd pouted because he had wanted to watch _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ that afternoon and instead had to sit in the kitchen helping his grandmother prepare tamalés for dinner.

She had looked at him with quiet, dark eyes as she mixed the _masà _with her hands before speaking. "Elì," she had said solemnly. "Do you know why I punished you?"

"Because I did something bad," he had replied sullenly and she had nodded her head, which had more black than gray then before wiping her hands with a wet rag. She had knelt down on the kitchen floor, cupping his chin in his hands and studying him silently before saying, "Your mama and papa aren't loving people. They don't know how to raise children, Elì. I think it's because I never really connected with your father when he was your age. He was always more like your _Abuelo_ than me."

"Why don't they ever hug me?" he had asked, tears filling his eyes. "Don't they love me, Grandma?"

"Oh, they love you, _amor_," she had sighed as she wrapped him in her arms, smelling like spices and homemade bread. "They love you but don't know how to show it." And he had cried in the kitchen, into his grandmother's shoulder.

It was the last time he would let her see him cry. Men don't cry.

_Avoid loud and aggressive persons,  
they are vexations to the spirit.  
If you compare yourself with others,  
you may become vain and bitter;  
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.  
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. _

His parents had disappeared when he was ten; he hadn't really noticed since he didn't really know them. Other than their names, Maria and Luis, he had no idea who his parents were. His grandmother was his whole world and he didn't need anyone else. One morning, he awoke to the sounds of his grandmother's voice shouting angrily.

"_Y que vasa a hacer con Elì? Ese niño te necesita!"_

"He can't come with us," his father's voice had answered. "We don't have room for him."

"Don't have room?" his grandmother had repeated as he crept from his bed to the door, peering out into the living room. His parents stood, all their possessions in a suitcase he later found out, in the front door, stone-faced and his grandmother had shaken her head, sadness tinging her voice as his father had held out a paper, saying, "This is his birth certificate Mom. You raise him; you'll do a better job than we can."

"_Dios nunca te perdona, Luis,"_ she had whispered. "God will never forgive you."

It took him two days to realize that he wasn't the son of Maria and Luis anymore; he was Letticia Navarro's grandson and that was all that mattered.

He didn't remember what his parents sounded like or what they smelled like, although sometimes late at night, he'd wake up with a lump in his throat because shouldn't children remember their parents? Shouldn't children _love_ their parents? Wasn't that how it worked?

He started junior high then and that's when he discovered that he had power. A sneer, a dark look, a growl could make even the toughest of the jocks tremble in their designer running shoes. He became infamous for being mean and cruel to those weaker than he was, and also infamous for being the one to go to when they needed something illegal done.

He conned money out of the rich boys and girls, the money their mommy's and daddy's used other people like his grandmother to make, and he didn't feel guilty about it because it was like the circle of life in his mind. Survival of the fittest and all that.

_Keep interested in your own career, however humble;  
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.  
Exercise caution in your business affairs;  
for the world is full of trickery.  
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;  
many persons strive for high ideals;  
and everywhere life is full of heroism._

He met Felix one day after school; Chardo insisted he'd be perfect for the gang so Weevil agreed to meet him. They'd met in a field two miles from the town, near a forest where there was an old cabin and bridge. Chardo had decided that Felix's initiation would be to cross the bridge and even though he'd known it was a bad idea, he had agreed.

Felix had made it across but on his way back, his foot went through one of the boards. He'd scrambled, his large ears turning red with surprise and fear as he began to run across the bridge, the rotted boards giving out beneath his feet, and the other's had shouted that he needed to hurry.

He'd been three feet from where they stood when the rope holding the bridge up gave way. Weevil had lunged forward, grabbing Felix's hand just as he began to fall and Chardo had shouted, grabbing Weevil's jeans, yelling at the others to pull them up.

Felix had been trembling and Weevil had laughed, even as his heart slammed into his ribs, saying, "Shit, you got some balls, man..." as the others laughed along with him. That was when Weevil began to realize that he could have any one of these boys die for him with a look.

He didn't know if he wanted that kind of power.

He found himself in charge of these boys's lives and he wasn't sure if he felt okay with that. After all, he was a kid himself but these kids, these children like him would _look _at him with awe and hero worship in their eyes, especially Felix and he didn't know if he could walk away from that.

He didn't know if he was strong enough.

_Be yourself.  
Especially, do not feign affection.  
Neither be cynical about love;  
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment  
it is as perennial as the grass. _

Then, he met Lilly Kane.

He met Lilly Kane and had his heart ripped out of his chest; up until then, he had been able to fool himself into believing that he'd learned to lock his heart away. He'd told himself that people would hurt him if he let them and he'd kept everyone that wasn't family as far away as he could.

Yeah, he'd hooked up with random girls; he was a normal hormonal male and he'd lost his virginity when he was fourteen to a girl named Carla, who had smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. She'd been pretty, there was no doubt about that, but she'd also been an easy lay, eighteen and a dope fiend that disappeared a few days after their tête-á-tête.

Lilly was different; she was wild and crazy, didn't care what others thought of her, didn't care what everyone expected her to be and he thought she was fucking amazing for having her own mind, unlike the rest of the 09-ers.

He fucked her, hard and fast 'cause she wanted it that way. She said she was sick of Echolls's bullshit and had demanded he fuck her, pursing her candy red lips in a way that drove him insane. But then she was cold and ignoring him, and his heart cracked in a way that he hadn't felt since his parents had left.

He hated her but he wanted her. He didn't know if he loved her the way she wanted him too though; Lilly was too fucked up to love, he thought.

And when he became a little more personal with Logan Echolls, in that way two men who were in love with the same woman could only be, he realized that Lilly hadn't given a shit about him. She died caring nothing for him and he watched her be buried with hatred festering in his heart.

He ignored the comments from Echolls; little white fag boy probably wanted him to take him up on his offer to prom and whenever Echolls would say something homophobic, he'd remember that old _gringo _that lived up the block, the whispers the neighbors would feed to his young ears, saying that he was sick and perverse and that _"you need to be careful with that man Eli. He's no good, he's damaged..."_

His graduation from high school; he had no idea what to do afterwards. Veronica was leaving for New York in a week and he mourned briefly for his friendship with the spunky blonde because what would she have to do with a high school graduate that worked in a garage fixing cars and motorcycles? He visited her during the week and helped her pack.

And finally said casually as he picked up a large box labeled 'CLOTHES', "I might come to visit you in New York someday."

She looked up, robin blue eyes bright as she said, "Oh yeah? You gonna do a road trip?"

He laughed as he looked over at her, knowing that his heart was breaking again at her leaving Neptune and him behind. "Maybe."

He went with her father and the Fennel crew to see her off. The last image he had of her was her turning around and waving, blonde hair glittering golden in the sunshine. It would be ten years before he saw her again and by then, there'd be a whole decade of stories for them to share.

_Take kindly the counsel of the years,  
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.  
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune._

His grandmother died that year; her heart finally gave out and he found himself having to raise his younger cousins, also abandoned by their parents or guardians. He went to night classes when the oldest turned sixteen and he wondered to himself what a twenty-two year old Chicano male would do with a degree in Art?

He raised his cousins, sending them all off to college, and watching them graduate. His grandmother would have been proud, he knew, and he finally decided to fix up the small little house he'd lived in his whole life. He added a second story and made it bigger for his own sake since he no longer had anyone but himself to take care of. Keith Mars came to visit him every now and then, bringing news about Veronica but when he moved with his new wife to Atlanta, Weevil knew he'd lost his only connection to his past.

All the boys from his gang had scattered; Felix was killed in a car accident one night years ago and Chardo had never returned from prison. Killed during a prison brawl by one of the guards and Weevil mourned his lost cousin because family was important.

Family was everything.

His cousins scattered to the winds, like the poets and dreamers that they were, but he kept rooms for them, clean and neat like his grandmother would have wanted. He never thought his life would go the way it did; Papa Chuy, an old Mexican-Cuban who owned the only tattoo parlor in Neptune was selling his store.

He went in to see the old man and was amazed at how different it looked without the photographs of various people with tattoos, himself included, off the walls. It felt naked and cold, and he shivered before calling towards the back where the old man had appeared, white hair around his shoulders and a leather vest decorating his white shirt that complimented his deeply tanned skin.

_But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.  
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.  
Beyond a wholesome discipline,  
be gentle with yourself. _

"What's going on, Papa?" he'd asked and the old man had smiled, revealing missing teeth as he said, "No one wants to come in here anymore Eli. All of the youth are going down to Los Angeles now for their body art."

"I'll buy it," he'd said impulsively, thinking about the money his grandmother had managed to stow away. "I'll take it off your hands, Papa."

"You got to feed yourself, Eli," the old man had protested. Weevil had shrugged and said, "I got enough to take care of myself for a while. What do you say Papa? Will you let me buy it?"

The old man had been silent before saying, "No."

Disappointment and embarrassment filled him, Weevil turned to leave but Papa Chuy had spoken up, saying with a twinkle in his eye, "I'll give you the shop Eli. Call it a gift for being like the son I never had."

And that's how he became small business owner and a tattoo artist. The business thrived, becoming one of the hottest parlors and places to go while in Southern California. Weevil found himself becoming a sort of celebrity with photographs in national tattoo magazines and people requesting to interview him.

He didn't know whether or not the majority of the interviews were for his tattooing or for his infamous part in the Lilly Murder Trial.

He began to work with people to help his shop become a chain and opened a shop in San Francisco when he was twenty-five. He found himself flying out to New York and that was his life for years until he was thirty-two. He'd fly all over the place, looking for new ideas and possible artists to come work in his shop.

Vegas, Houston, and finally New York City. Glittering, gluttonous New York where the people would rather sneer at you than smile, where murders and crime were normal for the natives, and where a small-town boy like himself was really just a small fish in a big pond. He was amazed at the amount of people out in front and said as much to his promoters who chuckled at his naivety.

Then he saw her. She stood near the back, hair long and pulled back into a thick braid, an amused smile on her features. The years had molded her into a sleek, beautiful woman and he could see that she wasn't surprised at all to see him.

He answered questions to the press, signed a few autographs for tattoo enthusiasts, even promised to come back and tattoo a few people. When it was over, the crowd had dispersed, he went up to her and said, "Looks like you belong here."

She grinned. "I could say the same for you."

He grinned back and said, "Damn but I missed you V."

Her eyes warmed and she said, "Same here Eli."

_You are a child of the universe,  
no less than the trees and the stars;  
you have a right to be here.  
And whether or not it is clear to you,no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should._

They stayed in touch and he heard about the men she dated as she heard about the girls he tried to date. Soon though, he found himself looking forward to her phone calls in a way that made him wonder and he snickered because even at the age of thirty-five, he didn't understand women. And Veronica wasn't like most girls; no she was a woman and he could see some of his grandmother in her in a way that made him feel warm inside his chest and stomach.

She came to visit suddenly one day; entered his shop with Backup the Third on his leash and leaned against the counter as she asked, "So if I get something tattooed today, can I get it free?"

He'd looked up and grinned at the sight of her as his employees all glanced at each other in bemusement. The blonde woman was sleek and cool in a black pantsuit and hair pinned into a twist. Nothing at all like the women the boss normally dated; this one had class in spades.

Backup hadn't protested and he'd grinned as he rubbed the dog's ears, saying to him in Spanish that he had the same spirit as his predecessors and that he'd never met a dog like him before. The pitbull had blinked at him slowly while Veronica studied him, the shaven head long gone, shoulder-length hair pulled into a neat tail at the nape of his neck. He looked up at her, dark eyes twinkling with mischief as he said, "I'll take you up on that offer someday _chica_."

They went out that evening, passed the school that still looked the same, a little more rundown but still the same. Past the old apartments she used to live in with her father, and finally, to his grandmother's modified home.

She gaped at the look of it and said, "How long did it take?" as he stood beside her.

He shrugged. "To finish it? About a year." At her look, he said, "I know people."

They met off and on again over the next three years; she told him how she'd run into Logan once in New York and he'd listened as she said that he'd looked at peace. He was getting married, she had said matter-of-factly, to a woman named Rose and she thought he had a flower name fetish but that wasn't appropriate to say.

Logan hadn't spoken to Veronica or him after Aaron's affair with Lilly was revealed. When he'd found out, he'd gone on a binge that had him waking up on the beach, bottles strewn everywhere. He'd then proceeded to throw up while the boys watched from afar, all of them knowing that their leader was in pain in ways they could never fathom.

_Therefore be at peace with God,  
whatever you conceive Him to be,  
and whatever your labors and aspirations,  
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. _

He finally told Veronica he was in love with her and she replied in kind. They married in a simple ceremony on the beach in Carmel. She moved back to Neptune and into his home, gave birth to his two daughters, named Mia and Angela. They had their mom's eyes and dad's smile; her quick wit and his wicked streak. The perfect combinations of them both, depending on who you spoke too.

At one point in time, Weevil found Duncan Kane standing in front of his house. He arched his brows as he studied the other man, the pressed suit and tie, the haggard look around his shoulders. He shut the door of his black Camaro, saying, "Duncan Kane."

The man turned to look at him, blue eyes meeting his dark ones silently. He looked behind him to see four-year-old Mia watching them with worry written in her blue eyes. Smiling, he said, "Call your Mama, would you?"

She obliged, Veronica come out the front door in her paint stained t-shirt and jeans. She arched her brows in surprise at the sight of Duncan and said, "Hey baby. Come home early?" as she walked across the lawn. He smiled and said, "Yeah. Angie inside?"

"She's painting," Veronica confided with a smile before turning to face Duncan. Without a word, he went inside.

There were some lines they hadn't ever crossed; it wasn't needed. When she entered the house again, her eyes were sad and tired but she merely smiled and kissed him on the forehead as his girls chattered happily.

He was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer when his girls graduated from high school. He didn't feel surprise and neither did Veronica; after all, it was normal for him to smoke while working on new tattoo designs or after work, out on the porch. She'd never bothered him about it and he'd never thought about the repercussions. Weevil knew he'd die because of it and it was too late for him to quit, despite the doctor's advice. They gave him two years; he lived until his girls were thirty-one.

One morning, Veronica left for an early jog; at the age of seventy-seven, she still prided herself on staying healthy. She entered the house and found Weevil, sitting in the backyard where they'd put up a row of crosses for the people they had lost. He was slumped over slightly, head tilted back, dark eyes shut, hair no longer black but gray. He wore his favorite jeans and a faded old white henley. She took one look at him and went inside to call her daughters, cheeks dry and a sad smile in her eyes.

He died with a smile on his face. Veronica knew wherever he was, he was happy. And more importantly, he was waiting for her to join him someday. But not now. After all, she theorized later on to her children and grand-children, their _Papa_ wanted someone to watch over them for a while. And who better than the woman he had claimed was his best friend, lover, mother, sister, and brother all in one?

The children and grand-children of Eli Navarro looked at one another and frowned. Finally, Veronica said, voice soft and quiet, _"With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy."_

And that said it all.

**Finis**


End file.
